


Cast in a Gold Light

by Aisalynn



Series: Fire and Light [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A little anyway, Canon Compliant, Gen, Spoilers for The Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisalynn/pseuds/Aisalynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company celebrates the death of Smaug. But not Thorin. Thorin cannot take his eyes off of Erebor, and the gold inside, while Bilbo can't take his eyes off him, a feeling of dread weighing down his every thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast in a Gold Light

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the first part of my Fire and Light series, even though it was written last. Can be read alone.

They could see the flames from across the lake. They burned bright orange and red and were reflected over and over again in the water, the light of it dimmed only by the thick black smoke reaching for the sky.

Laketown was on fire.

The Company stood on the edge of the cliffs and watched with grim despair. Balin wept as Smaug swept over the blazing town, a shock of fire cascading from his open jaws and beside Bilbo Ori, Dori and Nori were huddled together, arms braced on each other’s shoulders as they peered across the lake. Even Dwalin, normally so stoic, could not look away, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. All stood in grief and terror as they watched the destruction across the lake. 

All save one. 

Thorin stood apart from the rest, his back to the lake and his eyes locked firmly on the gates of Erebor. 

Biblo glanced back worriedly at the leader of their company. Thorin had not wanted to leave the inside of the mountain. While the rest of the dwarves had rushed to the broken gates as soon as Bilbo had informed them of the dragon’s intentions, Thorin had lingered. His eyes roamed the halls of Erebor with rapt attention, and it was only at the urging of his kin that he left to see what damage would be caused from them disturbing Smaug from his slumber. 

He did not choose, however, to climb to the top of the cliff with the rest of the company, stopping just a few feet down so as to have a good view of the mountain and there he remained. Even when the ground shook as Smaug fell from the sky and the rest of the company cried out in relief and joy Thorin stood apart. He did not join the revelry, and his gaze did not leave the mountain. 

The rest of the dwarves were too caught up in celebrating to notice their king slip away, but Bilbo watched him go, worrying at the bottom of his lip. Thorin had acted strangely when he met Bilbo in the mountain, before he had caught sight of the dragon. The dwarf had seemed imposing and intimidating from the very moment he walked through Bilbo’s door, but it was only at that moment that Thorin had ever appeared menacing. For a small moment Thorin’s eyes looked like they did not know Bilbo at all, and so the hobbit hesitated on mentioning the Arkenstone, the dragon’s words weighing heavily on his mind.

Now, Bilbo slipped away from the dwarves on the cliff and followed the King back to the gates. 

He found Thorin in the Hall of Kings. The dwarf stood just on the edge of the spilled gold, his face and clothes outlined in the golden light reflected from it’s surface.

Bilbo made his way over to him, taking care to make noise as he walked so as not to surprise the dwarf. But Thorin made no sign that he knew the hobbit was near until Bilbo was almost right beside him. Then Thorin shot out one arm, blocking him from going any further. 

“Careful, hafling,” he murmured, nodding at where Bilbo had almost stepped. “The gold is not yet cool. You’ll mar it’s surface with your touch, and burn your hairy feet besides.” He caught Bilbo’s eyes with a small smile.

Bilbo looked down at the feet in question. “Not so hairy any longer,” he muttered forlornly. “The dragon’s fire singed most of it clean off.” He thought regretfully on how his feet used to be: proper hobbit feet that were never used for more than walking through the green fields of the Shire and with enough dark, curly hair to make any Hobbit proud. 

Beside him, Thorin rumbled with a low chuckle. “A grave sacrifice indeed.”

Bilbo looked up in surprise. The dwarf was peering down at him with a teasing smile, and something in Bilbo relaxed at the sight of it. This was the Thorin he had come to know: the one who was amused by his gentle hobbit ways and often took the chance to mock him with a friendly grin.

Bilbo smiled helplessly back. “It was,” he insisted. “I can hardly call myself a proper hobbit anymore. No handkerchief, no waistcoat, and now no hair on my feet. I shall be laughed out of the Shire when I return home.”

“Well, if that happens you should return to Erebor.” Thorin clasped his shoulder. “You will always be welcome within these halls, hairy feet or no.”

Bilbo nodded his thanks, at a loss for what to say and Thorin turned from him, lifting his hand away as he gazed once more upon the gold floor. His expression was fierce as he took it all in, enraptured, and it made Bilbo uncomfortable. The hobbit’s mind scrambled for a distraction. 

“Why is this called the Hall of Kings?” He peered around Thorin to look further into the hall. “I don’t see a throne or anything.”

Thorin shook his head. “This is not the throne room. That lies further into the mountain. Look, here.” He pointed to the other side of the hall, across the now gold floor and behind the pillars that lined the room. “Do you see the statues lining the walls?”

Bilbo nodded. He had missed them before, but now that Thorin had pointed them out he could barely see their shape in the dim light. 

“Each one was made in the likeness of a King of Erebor, and that is where the hall gets it’s name. They stand guard over the mountain just as they did in life, made from it’s stone--both as a testament of their strength and steadfastness when they ruled as well as a reminder that Mahal created us from the very same stone we work with, and that to stone we shall return.” 

“But…” Bilbo’s eyes drifted over to where King Thror’s statue had briefly stood. Now only the stone used mold it remained, broken and in pieces on the floor. That statue had not been made from stone, and had been at least four times bigger than the rest. It had even stood apart: located at the front of the hall instead of guarding from the sides as the others did. 

Thorin followed his gaze. “Ah. My grandfather had different plans for his statue. Nothing but gold would please him. He said that finding the Arkenstone meant that he was king by Divine Right and so his statue should depict that for all ages to come. Near the end the only time he left the treasury was when he would go in here to watch it’s preparation. He would stand in the center of the hall and murmur of the glory it would be to see his likeness shine with the light of Erebor’s gold.”

“A symptom of the gold sickness?” Bilbo tentatively asked. Thorin had always been sensitive about the subject and Bilbo worried that he might be even more so now. 

But Thorin just nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I had thought so. The plans for the statue were made at the peak of his madness and the day Smaug appeared in the sky was the day the statue was to be formed, but now…” he stepped closer to the gold, lifting his face up as if he could feel it’s light on his skin. “Now I believe it was fate. For was it not the statue that allowed us to finally drive the lizard out from these walls?”

Bilbo could not reply. The sight of Thorin stepping further into the golden light, arms outstretched as if to embrace it had dried his mouth in fear, and dread. He could not take his eyes off Thorin’s face, where the reflected light had cast a sickly color across his skin. Thorin’s eyes were wide as he gazed down the hall, unmoving except for the slight turn of his head as took it all in, and once again Bilbo recalled the words that Smaug had rumbled. 

“So beautiful,” the dwarf murmured. “Tell me, Bilbo, have you ever seen something so magnificent?”

The hobbit looked doubtfully at the gold. It was drying unevenly, the shine of it broken up by fallen stone and rubble. The pillars edging it were half destroyed: charred by dragon fire and only partly shining from the gold that had splashed half hazardly on them. Near the end of the hall the gold thinned out, and there you could see the horrible footprints Smaug had left before he crashed through the mountain and into the open air. The spilled gold on that side was sporadic and covered with stone and dust. 

It shone in the moonlight pouring from the gaping hole that Smaug had made, but Bilbo did not think it beautiful. 

“I suppose we do have to thank the lizard for one thing,” Thorin continued without Bilbo’s reply. “We now have a floor truly meant for the Hall of Kings.” He finally stepped back the entryway, meeting Bilbo’s eyes with a smile. 

Somehow, it didn’t comfort the hobbit as well as the last one did.

“Come, burglar,” the dwarf said jovially. He slapped Bilbo lightly on the shoulder. “Let us go to the treasury. You may have helped get rid of the dragon but you still have yet a job to do. We must find the Arkenstone.” He charged past him, making his way quickly down the stone halls without looking back to make sure Bilbo was following, and the hobbit heard him mutter about seeing the Arkenstone’s light reflected in the Hall’s new floor. 

Bilbo trailed after the dwarf slowly, the heavy weight forming in his stomach matched only by the stone in his pocket.


End file.
